Endless Halls

Some minds, not all but some are fathomless, endless dark tunnels that we continually stumble through, blind. I find myself doing this quite often, and sometimes it scares me. At times we may find ourselves at a door that leads to who we are. Sometimes we don’t want to know, sometimes you’re completely at ease with your present self. But curiosity leads to that door being opened, and you find a new part of yourself, you may not like it- but it’s you. Sometimes I’m scared to find myself and constantly try to abandon the door, find a different one, but I’m a nosey person by bad habit- a door I opened a long time ago, the time where you’re trying to find out if you’re a princess or prince or not. So that became part of me, but that’s beside the point. So often enough I find myself at that door I mentioned earlier, and opening it. There are so many things I’ve found behind those doors, not all of them I liked, but since they’re me I’ve learned to deal with them, perfect them, critique them a bit. Sometimes I fail, sometimes I succeed, I guess that’s life. And as Forest Gump says ‘that’s all I got to say ‘bout that.’

Think I’m done? Na, I’ve got somethin’ else to cover- more about the mind. Sometimes I get scared. We all have our fears right? No one’s afraid of nothin’, even if you try to make it seem that way there’s always that fear eating at your insides, right? You remember ( or did you ever have) that phantom that lingered by doorways and on windowpanes when you were three? Mine never went away. At night, when I’d get up to go to the bathroom, I’d see him. What was silly was at first I thought He was Lord Voldemort, from the Harry Potter series. For years I believed that, and was afraid of the figure that disappeared whenever I tried to steal a glance of him. Later and for the past few years I’ve known him as Nightmare the murderer and the demon dog that’s chained to his rist, funny thing is- I don’t who’s in charge, the dog or the killer. Frankly I don’t see the difference. They’re both killers. Call me insane if you like, but sometimes I swear I can hear Nightmare talking to me, trying to make me-well if you don’t get it I’ll drop it. So I fear to take a stroll in my own mind, isn’t that sad? So Nightmare is my fear- the thing that eats away at me at night. See having asthma makes me have a fear of not being able to breath, so the two fears mutated into one- Nightmare strangling me to death. It’s not all bad though, being a writer, my story characters give me strength- don’t’ ask how they just do .

So I suppose that’s why all the great artists are mad, they’re fears mutating into insanity, like my favorite artists Edgar Allen Poe and Vincent Van Gogh. Now I’m done, hope this helped lighten some questions- if it didn’t I’m sorry.